


can't take the Night Vale out of the boy

by RainbowRandomness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Stiles grew up in Night Vale, Tags to be added, Teen Wolf/Welcome To Night Vale, mentions of blood and dead bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been living in Night Vale with his mother for most of his short teenage life, more or less peacefully, given the circumstances. However, when she finally gets killed by something in town, he decides to leave and live with his estranged father, Sheriff Stilinksi, of Beacon Hills.</p><p>The supernatural going-ons of Beacon Hills don't faze him at all, much to the disbelief of his childhood friend, Scott. And while Scott isn't the brightest crayon in the box, Stiles' incredibly weird/cheerful/flippant/morbid references to Night Vale confuse him to the point of talking to Derek's pack concerning his worries about Stiles.</p><p>Cue Derek, who has no idea what to make of this strange kid who keeps tagging along during pack stakeouts and rambling about his darling cat-friend Khoshekh, who cannot be photographed or else the photo-taker will die a week later; the Night Vale Scorpions; how the whole town of Desert Bluffs are ASSHOLES; and if there is a dog park in Beacon Hills, "NEVER GO THERE, DEREK, EVEN IF YOU ARE A WEREWOLF, BECAUSE I THINK YOU HAVE BEAUTIFUL EYES AND PERFECT ABS AND I'LL MISS YOU IF YOU SOMETHING HAPPENS TO YOU," etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Night Vale

**Author's Note:**

> There are not enough Teen Wolf/Welcome To Night Vale crossover fics and it pisses me off because I wanna read them and they don't exist so I'm gonna try and fill in [this prompt](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/2665.html?thread=483433#t483433) and write a hopefully successful chaptered crossover fic.

It was a night like any other when Stiles’ world was flipped onto its head. He was fast asleep, dreaming of space and stars, dinosaurs roaming around cities and castles built out of sand that stood taller than his four year old body. The single window in his room was open slightly, allowing a cool Spring breeze to curl into the room and mix the scent of freshly cut grass with the scent of Play-Doh and dried paint, the forgotten finger painted picture forgotten on the floor with the uncapped Play-Doh tubs.

There was movement in the shadows of the room, a silhouette illuminated by the night light plugged into the wall as the woman leaned over and shook Stiles’ shoulder gently but firmly. He woke with a stir, groggy and confused as he looked up into the woman’s face and murmured sleepily, “Mummy?”

“Shh darling,” she murmured, helping him sit up in bed. His mouth opened in a yawn as she placed some heavy looking bags onto the floor beside her before she sat down on his bed, reaching for him with a coat held in one hand.

She slipped his arms into his coat and zipped it up half way before she bent down towards the bags again. She sat back up holding a pair of his trainers and socks and slipped them both onto his feet before strapping the velcro on his shoes snugly, exactly how he liked it. Stiles sat there, sleepy and confused as his mother dressed him in his outdoor wear, the glow in the dark stars on his pyjama bottoms glowing faintly in the dimly lit room while she stood up and began collecting various toys from around the room to add to the bags on the floor. Stiles continued to sit on his bed, his eyes following her as she moved around the room, picking up his favourite toy dragon and a few knights before moving on to place the lids back onto the Play-Doh tubs and add them to the bags as well.

After adding another toy or two to the bags, she shrugged the heaviest onto her shoulder before bending down to reach for the next bag. Once she grasped it and had it firmly in her grip, she offered her hand to Stiles for him to take and he gazed at her in confusion, his brow furrowing.

His mother seemed to sense his confusion and said softly, “Come on sweetpea, we’re going on a car ride. Grab your wolfie and we’ll go get in the car, okay?”

Stiles nodded, reaching back to pick up his wolf toy, a soft teddy bear toy in the form of a wolf, with dark grey fur and eyes that changed colour in different lights. It was by far his favourite, gifted to him by a friend whose mother had made it by hand especially for Stiles. He slept with it every night and carried it around with him for the majority of his day, which pleased his friend greatly because he was happy that Stiles liked the present so much.

After grabbing his wolf, Stiles reached back and grabbed his blanket covered in glow in the dark stars and planets, before he reached to grab his pillow. After placing the items under one arm, he grasped his mother’s hand and allowed her to lead him from his bedroom, into the hall and down the stairs until they were out of the front door, which gave a soft _click_ behind them as it shut.

As his mother walked them to the Jeep that was parked in the driveway, Stiles watched as his mum opened the boot of the Jeep and placed the two bags she had been carrying into the back amongst a few other bags of various sizes. Stiles was once again confused about what the situation and what was happening; why were there so many bags in the Jeep? Where was his mum taking him?

He didn’t ask his mum though, as she shut the boot quietly and walked around to open the driver’s side door. She pulled back the front seat and ushered him into the back where he climbed up onto the seat and allowed his mother to clip him into his booster seat, his blanket draped over him and tucked slightly into the booster seats sides. His mother arranged his pillow so that it was propped up to the side so he could lean his head on it and wrap his arms around the middle, his stuffed wolf toy held tightly in his small grasp. Once she was sure that he was buckled in safely, she moved the seat back and climbed into the driver’s seat, shutting the door as quietly as she could before she started up the engine, reversed out of the driveway and drove away down the dark road.

*

When Stiles woke up, the sky was still dark and purple clouds drifted by slowly in the sky as the full moon shone brightly through them. Stars winked lazily and appeared to change colour every so often when Stiles blinked at them sleepily. Some even appeared to rotate and move within the sky, especially above a sign that read _The Arby’s_ and Stiles watched them with fascination as the Jeep drove down the dusty road.

“Mummy,” Stiles murmured from the back seat, his small body straining to sit up more and peer out of the window at the desert land littered with buildings. He could see a radio station perched on a slight hill, the radio tower standing tall on its flat roof as a red light blinked at the top of the metal structure, “Where are we?”

His mother didn’t answer straight away as she continued to drive, the soft sound of the radio the only sound filling the car, until they finally arrived at a small wooden house with pale blue and white paint peeling from the boards. Ivy grew up the sides and surrounded the second story window on the left side of the house, and the porch light flickered where it hung from the overhead roof. Stiles was sure, for a moment, that he saw a shadow pass by in one of the first story windows, but the moment he blinked, it was gone and a shiver ran through his body.

As they both stared up at the pretty but neglected little house, his mother whispered in anxious excitement, “This is our new home, honey. This is our new home.”

They continued to look up at the house, the darkened windows seeming to watch them in return, and before Stiles could ask where exactly their home was located in, the man’s soothing voice on the radio rumbled deeply, “ _Welcome to Night Vale._ ”


	2. Welcome back to Beacon Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't gonna lie, wasn't entirely sure how to end this so it might seem a bit erk but whatever, it's done. I hope you guys like chapter 2.

The sky is dark and grey, filled with clouds that drench the dusty desert land with water as the windscreen wipers on the Jeep move frantically across the glass, trying to clear the view of the window. The road is empty, the Jeep the only vehicle to be seen amongst the barren land as lightning flashes to the right off in the distant mountains.

Not that mountains existed, of course.

Stiles has been on the road for what seems like hours, and since the sky has been clouded and dark since he began his journey, he has no idea how long exactly he has been driving. Then again, knowing the time may not help as much as he would like it to; sometimes people in Night Vale could walk through a door in their house and feel like a few minutes have passed, only to discover that when they walked back through the doorframe, a whole year will have passed them by. Their skin will have formed wrinkles where wrinkles were not there before and their eyes will be haunted with images that they will have seen and experienced, but will be unable to remember.

Thankfully, Stiles was not one of those people. For the most part, his time in Night Vale had been pretty ordinary, at least in comparison to other people’s experiences living within the tight nit desert town. His mother and him had lived in a small but cosy home near the outskirts of the town, near enough within the borders of the town to be close by _The Arby’s_ but within sight of Larry Leroy who lived out on the edge of town. Stiles would see Larry sometimes, sitting in his armchair positioned by one of the lower floor windows, his cable TV the only thing illuminating the otherwise empty room.

He didn’t do much other than watch his cable TV anyway; even when he once went and visited the Whispering Forrest, he had returned home simply because of his love for his cable TV, which Stiles supposes isn’t a bad thing, considering the Whispering Forrest was not to be trusted and any and all compliments the forested whispered to passers by should be ignored at all costs, least you wandered into the embrace of the trees and become lost within their grasp. He remembers when he was on his way to school once, the forest had began complimenting him on his warm amber eyes and the pink pout of his lips. The trees had whispered sweetly how his hair appeared soft to touch and that the moles dotted along his left cheek were like constellations marked upon his skin. He had almost accepted their compliments and wandered into the forest before one of his fellow classmates and arrived to drag him away.

Stiles shook his head, the memories of Night Vale dispersing as he focused his attention back onto the still empty road ahead. The rain was still a heavy downpour, the water hitting the metal frame of the Jeep the only noise to be heard apart from the steady intake and exhales of Stiles’ breath and the static noise of the radio as it tried to connect with a station.

He reached over to fiddle with the radio dials and buttons, attempting to make it work so that he would have something to distract him from the nostalgic memories clogging his brain. Night Vale was behind him now, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It took a few tries, but after a while, the station finally clicked onto WZZZ, Night Vale’s local number station. He relaxed back into his seat as the sound of the pouring rain and the monotone female voice reading out supposedly random numbers lulled him as he continued to drive.

*

By the time Stiles arrived in Beacon Hills, the rain had stopped and the earth was dry, save for a puddle or two, and the skies had cleared to show a dark blue night sky filled with grey clouds that passed by lazily while Stiles drove into the town. He drove along the faintly familiar roads, looking here and there as he tried to locate the police station, until he finally found the faded red brick building and parked beside one of the police cruisers. Stiles gazed at the building in puzzlement, wondering why, if his father worked with the police, was the building located on the ground instead of hovering amongst the clouds like the Sheriff’s Secret Police department back in Night Vale? Stiles shook his head, pondering if there were two police stations in Beacon Hills.

Turning off the radio, which had once again faded into static once Stiles had driven further away from Night Vale, Stiles reached over to open the glove compartment, taking out the envelope held within. He slid out of the Jeep and shut the door, walking around the car and locking it as he walked towards the front doors of the police station, the envelope held tight in his grasp. He paused before the doors and took a deep breath before pushing them open and stepping inside the warmly lit building.

The walls were painted a faded yellow, and down a corridor he could see wood panelling that stopped halfway up the walls with the wood painted a dull, pale green. The light at the end of the hall flickered for a moment before resuming its glow as Stiles stepped towards the front desk, his hands coming up to rest on the dark wood. His fingers began to tap out an unknown beat while he waited for someone to come to the front desk, the grey swivel chair abandoned in the far corner where a lamp sat on the lower desk area. He peered over and looked at the files and paperwork littered along the desks surface, a computer monitor illuminating the area as it displayed the save screen, with silver lettering that bounced around the screen reading “ _Beacon County Sheriff’s Station_ ”, like the sign above the doors outside. The computer placed behind the monitor hummed quietly in the apparent silence.

Stiles had begun contemplating whether he should walk through down to the end of the hall when he heard a door open and then close down the corridor. He looked away from the security camera above the desk that he had been staring into and turned to see an attractive young man walking towards him with a mug of something steaming in one hand, a pile of heavy looking files held in the other. Stiles watched the man as he glanced up and noticed Stiles standing there with his elbows on the desk, his chin resting in the palm of his hand, and came forward quickly to put down the files and mug. He looked up and gave Stiles a sheepish yet charming smile as he said, “Sorry, I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Stiles shook his head in answer and straightened himself, looking the deputy (nametag: Parrish) up and down. He was attractive, Stiles wasn’t going to lie, with soft looking skin and a welcoming, friendly face. His hair was dark but shone blonde when the light hit it right, and his pale green eyes reminded Stiles of moss covered fairy pools. Not to mention how the deputy uniform was very well fitted to show off his muscles and Stiles was sure that if the deputy turned around, those trousers would show off his butt perfectly.

Shaking his head, Stiles rid himself of such thoughts before replying, “Not very long,” before he glanced down at the envelope in his hand, tapping his fingers against it nervously. The corner of the envelope was torn slightly, the paper not quite as white as it probably once was and the familiar scrawl on the front read simply, “ _John_ ” in black ink in his mother’s usually illegible handwriting. He looked back up to Deputy Parrish as he said, “How may I help you?”

Stiles bit his lip before saying, “I’m here to see John Stilinski.”

*

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in the Sheriff’s office before the Sheriff arrived. Enough time that he had managed to study each individual war medal hung in a case that sat on a shelf behind the man’s desk, as well as all of the various coloured papers and images that were tacked onto the large pin board that was on the wall behind the desk. A large red painted fish hanging on a hook was on the left of the board, a framed picture of the Sheriff in fishing gear beneath it. Stiles was studying said photo when the door to the office swung open to revel the same man from the photo, this time clad in a Sheriff’s uniform, his badge shining where the light from the lamp on the desk hit it.

Stiles stood when the man entered and hovered uncertainly as the man looked him up and down. He seemed older than what Stiles remembered, his hair slightly thinner, a few more wrinkles from the stress of the job. His eyes were the same though; pale green, friendly, warm and inviting. Stiles knew that he was a good Sheriff for this town, that he cared for the people that lived within its borders and that he would protect them no matter what.

Because that was the sort of person his father was.

The Sheriff stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him as he did so, his familiar eyes still taking Stiles in. Stiles stood still, allowing the Sheriff to come to terms with what he was facing. He expected the Sheriff to ask who he was and what he wanted, but he didn’t expect for him to step forward and drag Stiles in form a warm and firm embrace.

Stiles stood, shocked for a moment as he tried to process what was happening before his brain kicked into gear and he hugged the Sheriff back. He buried his face in the man’s shoulder and breathed in deeply, smelling his deodorant and the stench of coffee.

They stood like that for a while, both holding on tightly as they hugged, Stiles face buried into his father’s shoulder as the Sheriff did the same to his son. It felt as though all those years that Stiles hadn’t been here didn’t exist, and he felt comforted in knowing that his father still knew him and accepted him, even after all this time. Although they would have to get used to each other again after not seeing each other since Stiles was four, Stiles felt reassured that they would be fine.

When they finally broke away from each other, John rested his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and gave it a squeeze. His eyes appeared slightly teary as he smiled warmly at Stiles, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s good to see you again Genim,” his father said, giving Stiles’ shoulder another squeeze before dropping his hand back down to his side.

“Stiles,” he corrected, wincing slightly at the mention of his real name. He hadn’t heard anyone call him that for quite some time. The Sheriff raised his eyebrows but nodded, correcting himself as he said, “Stiles,” which made his son smile at him.

They moved to sit down, John taking the seat behind his desk while Stiles sat back down in one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. His arms came up to rest his elbows on the armrests as he leaned forward. The Sheriff shut the lid on the laptop that had been left on his desk and moved it to the side before placing his elbows on the desk and linking his fingers together. He tapped his index finger against his hand, seeming nervous for a moment before asking tentatively, “How is your mother?”

Stiles’ mouth turned down into a sad frown as he averted his gaze from his father for a moment. He bit his lip, a nervous habit he had acquired over the years, before he placed the worn envelope onto the desk and slid it across to his father, who looked at the envelope in puzzlement before he picked it up. His eyes softened upon seeing his name written on the front in his wife’s handwriting before he seemed to tense slightly in anxious anticipation. He opened the envelope slowly, the ripping of the paper cutting through the silence in the room before he took out the numerous folded papers that were folded together, Claudia’s messy cursive script covering the white sheets in black ink. John’s brows furrowed with confusion for a moment as he unfolded the papers and smoothed them out. He held them up closer to the light of the lamp on his desk, his eyes moving across the page for a while before he stopped, his eyes seemingly caught on something particular.

Stiles had never seen what was in the envelope, only knew that it contained a letter written to his estranged father during the first few months of his mother’s illness, before the disease took over and she forgot how to write. Stiles watched as his father seemed to reread the sentence before he looked up to his son with sadness in his eyes as he said, “Your mother, she...”

He trailed off, unable to say it and Stiles nodded, finishing his father’s sentence as he murmured, “She’s dead.”


	3. A Bloody Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the updates come just a bit slower, I got my letter from college the other day and I have to complete two tasks before I go back in September so I'm doing that while also updating this, is all.
> 
> Also, Stiles should be meeting the rest of the pack in the next chapter, so look out for that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

It was late when Stiles finally made it to his new home. He had been travelling for the majority of the night and through the day until he had finally arrived in Beacon Hills. His first stop had been to the Sheriff’s police station (Stiles felt aghast when he had inquired his father about the Sheriff’s Secret Police office, to which his father had looked at him in puzzlement before explaining that he didn’t have a secret police hover office in the clouds) where after reuniting after so many years and Stiles having to break the news to his father that his wife was dead, the two had discussed what they would do about Stiles. His childhood bedroom hadn’t been touched for a few years, John hoping against hope that his wife and child would return. After a while he had finally taken charge and made the room into a guest bedroom, selling his sons toys and getting rid of the majority of things contained within the room.

Stiles had nodded, guilt churning in his stomach for leaving his dad, even though at four years old he hadn’t really had a choice. His mother had just taken him away in the night, uprooted them until they found a new home and a new life in Night Vale, without the Sheriff. Stiles still didn’t know why his mother had done it, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know, and he didn’t ask the Sheriff if he knew.

In the end, after discussing everything through, they had decided that Stiles would go home and settle in while the Sheriff stayed at the station and finished his night shift. The following day was Friday, and the Sheriff had another night shift Friday night, so they would have a whole day to go shopping for some things to put in Stiles’ room, such as bedsheets and probably a computer desk, amongst other things. The Sheriff would visit the school in the morning to get any and all forms that would need to be filled in and returned so that Stiles could attend Beacon Hills High School, but Stiles would have the whole weekend to complete any catch up work the school wanted him to do, and he could return the work and the forms on Monday.

It wasn’t hard to find the house. Although it had been years, he still recognized the house when he saw it; turning the corner at the end of the road, it was the seventh house in, the porch light glowing softly, ivy crawling up the worn brickwork. Stiles felt a pang of sadness, thinking of his home back in Night Vale with the ivy crawling up and surrounding his bedroom window on the second floor. There had been a few times he had crawled out of his window and used the ivy, thick and strong as it was, to climb up onto the roof and watch the odd yet fascinating lights and stars that polluted Night Vale’s sky. He would watch as the Sheriff’s Secret Police helicopters roamed about the sky, lights on the blue metal frames blinking to let the citizens know they were safely being watched and protected by the police as they all pretended to sleep.

Stiles parked the Jeep in the driveway, turning off the ignition and pausing for a moment, simply sitting quietly in the driver’s seat as he processed the past few day’s events.

His mother had died of an illness the scientist and doctors of Night Vale and never come across, claiming it was an infection of the mind and that she had had it too long for anything to be done. His mother had been quite about it, and all of the symptoms of her illness had been things that Stiles thought was inherit parts of who she was. When she forgot her words and struggled to find them, he would fill in the blanks for her, helping her finish her sentences before she became too frustrated with herself. When he woke in the night to the sound of bare feet against creaky wooden floorboards, he would follow his mother as she walked, as if in a daze, out into the night and stand still on the grass in their front garden, her face tilted up towards the sky. He would stand there beside her, watching the stars wink at them, the gentle hum of police helicopters above a soothing background noise as crickets chirped within long grass and plastic bags that were most definitely not a pack of feral dogs roamed the streets and growled from the shadows.

Stiles wondered then, if that was why his mum had left his dad. Not because they fought or because they fell out of love, but because his mother was ill and was scared to admit it. In her mind, taking Stiles and running had been better than facing the fact that she was on a downward spiral, the illness slowly infecting her brain until she was reduced to nothing more than a ghost of a loving mother and a strong woman. She would lie in bed and gaze at nothing, sometimes speaking in hushed mumbles with incoherent words to forms that glowed and faded in and out of sight. The almost translucent forms wings would stretch and flutter, feathers left in the room for his mother to collect as they held her hand, perched on the end of her bed, or entertained her by holding the light bulb from her bedside lamp and making it glow for her. When they left, Stiles would come into her room and feed her dinner before going around the room and picking up any stray feathers that had fallen from the winged creatures, giving them all to his mother who watched him carefully as he did so. He would help her to sit up in bed more and she would sit there, touching each feather individually and stroking their soft, fine hairs, her hands only shaking slightly as she did so.

When Claudia died, Stiles had been heartbroken. He had come up to check on her after school and the winged creatures were there, standing around the bed, their glow fading in and out of intensity. The one closest to her had held her hand and none of them had looked towards Stiles as he entered the room and shut the door. He knew something was different this time, could feel it in the air by how still the forms were standing, wings held tight to their backs and heads bowed as if praying. He had stepped forward tentatively, moving round so that he was by his mother’s side and the creatures moved, making room for him to step forward and take her hand from the black figures. Stiles had kneeled down beside her bed and held her hand, his own shaking as she looked towards him with the same warm expression she always gave his way. Her whiskey coloured eyes that matched his own seemed brighter then, more clear as she reached with her other hand to cup his cheek and stroke it before her hand fell away to lie against her stomach.

He knew she was going, could feel it in how the winged creatures seemed to almost hum with anticipation, their bodies buzzing and creating a blur behind him. His grip on her hand tightened as she breathed once, her gaze still on him, and then breathed out and seemed to fade. The light in her eyes dimmed to nothing, her grip on his hand going slack and he cried as the angels around him blurred and their wings encased them in a blinding light.

*

It was strange trying to sleep without the distant hum of helicopters flying overhead and strange lights passing by outside his window. It was something he had become accustomed to in Night Vale, so trying to sleep without the comforting knowledge of the Sheriff’s Secret Police watching him was odd.

After sitting in the Jeep for a while, Stiles had eventually gotten out and opened the boot, taking out different bags of varying sizes and carrying them to the front door. The Sheriff had told him where the spare key was and said he would get another key cut for Stiles at some point during the weekend.

Stretching up and feeling his way along the frame of the door, Stiles fingers eventually landed on the spare key. He unlocked the front door and began moving some of his bags inside the house before going back to get out any remaining items from his Jeep and closing the boot, locking the Jeep for the night. He then carried the remaining bags and other random things up to the door and brought them inside before kicking the door shut with his foot.

Lying in bed now, Stiles wondered if maybe he should bother unpacking some things. He hadn’t thought of it before, simply brought all of his things up to his new room with him and dumped them by the side of the door before he fell onto the bed with a grunt. Stiles had thought it best to attempt to sleep after being awake for so many hours travelling across the country, but sleep didn’t come to coax him into an unconscious darkness, instead leaving him be to toss and turn in an unfamiliar bed until he gave up.

Turning onto his side, Stiles looked at the clock sat on the bedside table and frowned at the display. _4.28AM_ , it read, as if mocking Stiles for his inability to fall unconscious. He glared at the digital clock before sitting up in bed and sighing as he got up. His dad had come home around an hour ago, opening the door to Stiles’ room to check on him, or perhaps to make sure he hadn’t left again.

Being careful where he moved, Stiles made his way over to where he had thrown his shoes and clothes earlier when he had stripped and changed into his pyjamas. He discarded his pyjama bottoms and put on his jeans, zipping them up before he toed his shoes back on. After a moment he picked up his red hoodie and zipped it up over the shirt he had been sleeping in before silently walking over to his window and unlatching it, shoving the bottom frame up to let in a cool breeze. He leaned against the window ledge for a moment, appreciating the cool Autumn air before he stuck his head out and peered out into the dark.

Below his bedroom window was a small roof that was positioned above the backdoor that led from the kitchen into the back garden. Moving carefully and trying to remain silent, Stiles leaned back into his room and hooked his legs over his window ledge, trying to find purchase on the roof below. Once he was certain he wouldn’t fall and break his neck, he slide the rest of his body out until he was sat upon the bent roof before he then proceeded to slide down the slanted side and jump until his feet connected with the ground.

Brushing himself off, Stiles congratulated himself on managing to do that without injuring himself and then continued to walk towards the bottom of the garden which eventually became less of a garden and trailed off into woodland. Stiles didn’t mind and since none of the trees seemed to be whispering compliments to him, Stiles deemed the woods safe and began to walk amongst the mostly naked branches, one had shoved into his jacket pocket and the other held out at his side, brushing the trunks of the trees as he passed them by. He kept his eye on the moon above, not quite yet full but still beaming down at him none the less as the sky began to turn lighter.

Stiles wasn’t sure how long he had been wondering around in the woods before he stumbled upon it. He had been walking along, face still tilted towards the sky as he watched it change colour, his feet trying to not stumble over any tree roots while his hand guided him by sweeping across each tree he passed, but eventually, he touched something wet.

At first he was puzzled, his brow furrowing as he stopped and looked down towards where his hand was resting against the bark of a thick tree. There was something dark smudged against the bark and he drew his hand away, bringing his fingers closer to his face and tilting them towards the light of the fading moon to see his fingers smeared with something dark, something red and sticky that smelt metallic. He grew curious when he realized it was blood that covered his fingers and he wondered how it had become smeared against the bark of some random tree out in the woods. Moving around the tree, it wasn’t long before his foot hit something and he almost tumbled to the ground. He reached out and clung to the tree so as not to fall before glancing down to see what he had almost fallen over.

Lying amongst the fallen leaves that covered the ground was a body, half slumped against the tree trunk, its hair matted and scraggly, covering the persons face. Flies buzzed as they landed here and there on the pale, sickly skin before scattering off into the air as Stiles stepped closer to inspect the body. He knew there was nothing he could do, knew the person, whoever they were, was dead, but he still reached out to remove their arm which was covering their stomach.

Pushing the arm away, Stiles almost gagged at the smell of blood and decay as it hit his senses. The person’s stomach was ripped open, flesh hanging off of exposed bone as organs tried to spill free once the arm was removed from blocking their escape. The large intestine was missing, only a few bloody clumps as remains to say it had ever been there and blood oozed out of the large gaping wound and dripped onto the ground below, seeping into the earth.

Stiles staggered backwards, turned around and promptly threw up against a tree.


	4. An Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I add to much unnecessary details and that that might be disrupting the flow of the fic. I'm not sure, but sometimes when writing I feel like that's what I'm doing. What do you guys think? Am I adding too much unnecessary details or do you like what I've written so far? Feedback would be great, thank you.
> 
> I was also wondering about making some chapters just 1,000 words instead of trying to strive towards at least 2,000 each time, but I also feel 1,000 words might be too short to be a chapter, but if it was just one chapter amongst a few that was only 1,000 words, would that be bad? I'll let you guys decide.
> 
> Ermm apart from all that, enjoy.
> 
> P.S. I've fuck all idea how American school works. I wanted to put "Science" as his first lesson because in England it's Science lessons which include Chemistry, Biology and Physics, which is taught by one teacher, but if memory serves, Mr. Harris only does Chemistry or whatever? So I'ono.

The weekend passed by in a blur after that morning in the woods. After vomiting against a tree, Stiles had looked back towards the body for a brief moment before taking off back towards the house, the early morning sunrise lighting his path as he raced back to his father. It was around half past six in the morning when he finally reached the edge of the garden and banged against the back door, startling his father who had still been asleep upstairs. The Sheriff had rushed down the stairs, eyes still half closed as sleep clung to his alert body, his hair ruffled and a pillow crease etched into his cheek and underside of his chin. He looked different dressed in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a rumpled white vest as he hurried over to unlock the back door and let Stiles in.

After having the Sheriff wake up fully and interrogate Stiles as to why he was out of the house and why had he come from the woods, Stiles had managed to explain what he had seen in the woods. The Sheriff’s face paled and a bone weary sigh left his lips as he went to retrieve his police radio to let them know of a body found in the woods. He gave Stiles a stern look before telling him to put the coffee machine on and went back upstairs to presumably shower and dress.

After that, everything was a blur of movement. A police crew, including his father and the deputy he had met the other night at the station, went into the woods to search for the body. Stiles had told his father that he had walked straight into the woodland area and felt along the bark of the trees he passed before stopping when he felt something wet against one of the trunks, which was where he saw the body slumped on the floor. His father had nodded before joining his team to go out into the woods.

Stiles didn’t do much over the weekend. His father worked his shifts and after discovering the body, he was busy trying to find out who the killer was and who the corpse was. As far as Stiles knew, the corpse was a woman in her early thirties with shoulder length blonde hair and brown eyes. Her large intestine was missing and some of her organs had begun to rot faster than they should be at this stage in her death, which was confusing the majority of the medical team who were trying to figure out why this was. Stiles wasn’t really surprised; things like this happened in Night Vale often enough that people didn’t pay attention to small details like that.

Although the Sheriff was busy with his work, he had still found time to drop by the school that Friday to pick up the application forms that needed to be signed and any work they wanted Stiles to complete before joining them Monday. He groaned when his dad handed him the stack of textbooks and sheets that needed to be completed for the work. He clapped Stiles on the shoulder with a smile and told him it would be fine, before he went off to fill in the application and medical forms.

The school work wasn’t too difficult to complete, although Stiles had to remind himself not to add in any Coptic or Weird Spanish to his Spanish work, as he was sure his teachers would not appreciate it since they hadn’t handed him another sheet for any Coptic or Weird Spanish.

The work was completed quickly and Stiles grew bored. Since it was already Sunday, his school work was done and his room had already been decorated with numerous posters and a new desk with a laptop, Stiles decided that he would go out for a drive before going to bed for the night. He didn’t fancy like going for another walk, especially not into the woods.

The streets were dark, lit only by the street lamps as he drove along the road, familiar houses passing him by and the air almost cold as it drifted in and wrapped around him through his open windows. He drove around, trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings before he stopped at an antique store, a dim light shining through the large store window. He parked nearby before getting out and walking into the shop, a bell jingling above him as the door opened and he breathed in the smell of dust and moth bitten carpets. He wandered around between the antique furniture, a moth flittering against the bulb of a dusty lamp, the gaze of the old man flicking towards him every once in a while before his eyes would return to the book in front of him.

It took a moment before Stiles found what he was looking for; an old dial radio with two knobs for him to adjust to flitter between stations. It was tucked away behind a large, throne like chair and a floor lamp that hung over the chair to give the faded red material an eerie glow. The radio was sat on a side table located behind the chair and lamp and Stiles reached over to pick it up before walking to the man at the till.

After buying the old dial radio, the old man’s curious gaze following him as he left the shop, Stiles drove to a gas station to fill up the Jeep’s tank, buying a bag of glow in the dark stars, planets and moons while he was paying at the till for the gas. He drove home with a content smile on his face, his mood light and relaxed as he stood on his desk chair and stuck the glow in the dark moons, stars and planets onto his bedroom ceiling. Although they weren’t the same as the mysterious glowing lights in the sky back in Night Vale, they would have to do.

*

Monday morning was worse than Stiles remembered it had any right to be. Waking up late and having to shower and dress quickly before rushing out of the door without even stopping for breakfast wasn’t desirable but he didn’t have a choice as he grabbed his work and application forms and threw them into the Jeep. He sped out of the driveway and made his way towards the school, remembering to slow down before he had to get arrested by his own father for speeding.

He drove into the car park and parked the Jeep next to a green and black motorbike, which he admired for a moment before collecting his things and rushing towards the front doors, bumping into a snobby looking brunette on the way. He knocked into the kid, which earned him a snarl as he glared at Stiles through his expensive looking sunglasses and Stiles shrugged before rushing back towards the doors, ignoring the indignant cries from the guy behind him.

After giving in his forms and collecting his timetable from the woman at reception, he made his way to his first lesson as the bell began to ring. It was Chemistry with Mr. A Harris and Stiles continued down the corridors until he came across the classroom written on his timetable.

Upon entering the room, chattering amongst the students seemed to dim for a moment as people looked up towards Stiles with curiosity in their gazes, some giving him a once over before dismissing him entirely. Chatter soon resumed and Stiles slid onto an empty stool at the empty desk in the middle of the classroom, ignoring some of the lingering gazes that seemed to be coming from a very attractive looking blonde with a wolfish grin gracing her red painted lips and a curly haired boy with cheekbones to die for. Both students looked as though they had walked out of the pages of a magazine and Stiles couldn’t help but stare at them in wonder for a moment as he took in their beauty. He looked away when the curly haired boy smirked at him with a raised eyebrow.

The stool to the left of him creaked as it skidded slightly against the floor as someone sat down next to him. He looked up to see a guy with a slightly crooked jawline and fluffy brown hair sat next to him, a smile lighting up his friendly face. Stiles blinked in surprise as the guy put down his textbooks and then looked up to him, his smile slipping off his face for a moment as his brow pitched forward in puzzlement.

After being under the guys brown eyed gaze for longer than Stiles was comfortable with, Stiles was about to ask if something was on his face when the guys eyes widened in recognition and he asked in astonishment, “Stiles?”

Stiles was about to ask how the guy (who, upon closer inspection, seemed familiar) knew him when the crack of something hard hitting a desk made them both jump in their seats and look towards the front of the classroom. A man with a pinched mouth, glasses and perfectly styled hair was standing at the front desk, a wooden ruler held in one hand that was resting against the desk that he had brought it down upon. He scanned the classroom for a moment before his gaze landed on Stiles and he narrowed his eyes at him before addressing the class.

“I hope you all did the homework I assigned you all Friday night,” he said, his eyes still on Stiles as he spoke, “If not, you all know to return here after school for detention.”

Stiles stared his teacher down until Mr. Harris moved on to look around the room again as everyone reached into their bags to bring out their homework. Stiles did the same, reaching in and bringing out his completed homework that he had done the previous night and setting it on his desk. Out of his peripheral, he could see the fluffy haired boy beside him sneaking glances at him every once so often and Stiles tried to put it out of his mind as everyone passed their homework up until there was a neat stack at the front of the class. Once Mr. Harris had turned his back and begun writing on the board behind him, talking to the class at large as they opened their textbooks to the correct page, Stiles stiffened for a moment as the boy next to him leaned over towards him.

“Stiles?” he asked again, his head leaning down towards the desk slightly to look up at Stiles.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking towards the strange teenager. He felt as though he recognized him but couldn’t place why.

The guy smiled at him, pleased that he had confirmed who he was. He rested his elbows on the desk as he said, “I’m Scott. Remember me?”

Stiles was puzzled for a moment. Why would he know this guy? He hasn’t been in Beacon Hills since he was four years old, and sure, he had a friend or two here when he was young, but...

Studying the guys smiling face for a moment, something seemed to clink in Stiles’ mind and his face split into a wide grin as he exclaimed in an excited whisper, “Scott?”

The guy, Scott, was beaming at him now as he nodded enthusiastically and Stiles reached over to hug him, clapping him on his back with barely contained excited. He couldn’t really believe that after all this time that Scott even remembered him, or that they met again after such a long time. Stiles hadn’t seen Scott since they were both four years old and used to play together as kids before Stiles’ mum took him away to Night Vale. It feels good to see a familiar face that Stiles forgets for a moment they’re both in the middle of a lesson when another crack sounds around the room and both boys jump apart.

Mr. Harris is stood before them, his ruler lying across their desk as he raises an eyebrow at them both and says in mock surprise, “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

Both boys shake their hands and the teacher moves on. The moment their backs are turned, they both look at each other and smile with contained glee.

Scott leans over again and whispers, “It’s good to see you again dude,” and Stiles beams at him, ignoring the glare Mr. Harris sends their way.


	5. The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Howling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's good old Scott and the pack, woo! At last haha.
> 
> Also, I have a rough idea about what the old dial radio looks like but I also have no clue how they work apart from people in tv shows would adjust at least one dial to make the meter thing move along the screen thing with numbers, which is how they switched stations and tuned in. That's as far as my knowledge goes, so if what I've written is incorrect, sorry!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

Lessons fly by quickly, homework piles up and textbooks weigh down Stiles’ backpack. Scott is in the majority of his classes and both boys are joined at the hip, constantly talking and catching up after not seeing each other for so long. Scott tells Stiles about what’s new in Beacon Hills as they walk towards the cafeteria at lunch time, Scott’s hands moving constantly as he talks. He talks about his mum, Stiles’ dad, Scott’s friends, his job, and anything else beneath the sun. Allison is a name that crops up often and Scott gets this dreamy, far off look in his eyes when he talks about her, so Stiles assumes she’s got Scott’s affections.

He’s proved right when they sit down at one of the larger tables, a group of people already seated on the plastic chairs. Scott beams as he sits down next to a brunette with wavy hair and a dimpled smile and Scott kisses her on the cheek, making her smile widen. Stiles sits down opposite Scott, next to a stunning redhead who ignores him completely. Next to her is the guy Stiles’ bumped into this morning and he sneers when he sees Stiles look his way.

“Hey guys,” Scott says, leaning forward onto the table. Everyone flicks their eyes his way, conversations pausing for a moment as he gestures towards Stiles, “This is Stiles. We were best friends when we were kids before he moved away.”

Stiles waves feebly as Scott begins to introduce everyone; next to Scott is Allison, who smiles at him sweetly and gives a slight wave. Next to her is the curly haired model from Chemistry, whose name is Isaac. He gives Stiles another smirk and moves his fingers as a sort of wave. Sat to his left is the blonde and she mimics Isaac’s waves and bares her teeth at Stiles, which makes him want to squirm in his seat but he resists. The guy next to her is Boyd, a broad shouldered individual who simply nods at Stiles in greeting. By the way Erica is leaning into Boyd slightly, and the soft looks the two keep giving each other, Stiles assumes they are together. They seem sweet.

Continuing around the table, Scott introduces Danny, who waves at Stiles with a smile before he continues to eat his apple. Next to him is the guy from earlier whose name is Jackson and he gives Stiles an unimpressed look before going back to ignoring him. Scott leans over to whisper to Stiles that he shouldn’t worry, Jackson’s always a dick and Jackson looks up to glare at them both, making Scott smile innocently in return.

“And then next to you is Lydia,” Scott says, leaning back into his seat. The girl in question turns to Stiles and gives him a once over, her gaze probing but seemingly bored. She gives him a smile all the same before returning her attention to her phone that pings in her hand.

“So _Stiles_ ,” Erica purrs from across the table, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand, “Where have you been all this time?”

Stiles tries to avoid staring at her ample bosom as he replies, “Night Vale. Me and my mum moved there when I was young.”

“Night Vale?” Allison asks, pulling Stiles attention away from Erica’s hooded gaze, “I’ve never heard of there before. Is it close by Beacon Hills?”

She pops one of the cherry tomatoes from her salad into her mouth, looking at Stiles curiously. He tries to think how best to describe where Night Vale is located before settling on, “Not really, I don’t think. We get a lot of visitors but it’s surrounded by vast empty desert, so it can be quite hard to find.”

He takes a bite of curly fry, humming his approval at the food. Allison nods at his answer before asking, “So why did you move back to Beacon Hills?”

Stiles swallows, picking up another curly fry before replying, “My Mum died.”

The table falls silent for a moment as everyone stops what they are doing, conversations stopping abruptly at the news. Everyone has a mixed expression of sadness and guilt, especially Allison who murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles shakes his head, shrugging, “It’s alright. She’d been ill for a while, so we knew it was inevitable. She told me she wanted me to move back here and find my Dad after she died, so I did.”

The table is still quite for a moment as Stiles continues eating before Scott clears his throat and says, “So what’s Night Vale like?”

The tension surrounding them eases as Stiles begins to describe Night Vale, everyone continuing what they were doing a moment before.

“It’s a really friendly desert town,” Stiles says, stuffing another curly fry or two into his mouth, “We got a new guy in town a year or so ago, he kinda looks like you, but older,” Stiles nods towards Scott, who is listening intently, “He’s a Scientist, real cool guy. Cecil, who works at the radio station, is dating him, which is real sweet. Oh, and Cecil has this cute cat, Khoshekh, he’s beyond adorable, and so fluffy! He used to float above a sink in the men’s bathroom at the radio station before there was an accident, but he’s fine now, at least it means he can leave the station’s bathroom.”

Stiles takes a swig of his drink while Scott looks at him with confusion. Even Lydia has turned to give him a questioning look and he blinks at them all innocently.

“Did you just say the cat used to float above a sink?” Lydia asks and Stiles nods, picking up his apple and biting into it.

“Yeah, before the accident, but when he got mauled by that weird StrexPet thing, Khoshekh was knocked from his position, so now he can walk around like a normal cat. He lost an eye and a part of his paw in the mauling though, but at least he’s alive and well,” Stiles takes another bite of his apple as everyone around the table once again stops their conversations to listen intently, “His kittens are still floating in the men’s bathroom though,” he finishes as he takes another bite and licks up the juice dripping down his palm.

Scott looks baffled by all of the information before he asks, “Do you have any photos of, erm, Khoshekh?”

For a moment, Stiles is scandalised at the thought, and it must show on his face by how Scott leans back in surprise.

“You can’t take pictures of Khoshekh,” Stiles replies, nibbling at his apple core, “If you do, you’ll die an agonizing death within a week. He doesn’t show up in photos anyway.”

Everyone around the table is blatantly staring at Stiles by this point, not that he notices as he finishes off his apple. The table is resigned to a stunned silence before Erica bursts out laughing, clutching her sides.

“I like you, Stiles,” she says, wiping a tear from her eye, “You tell the best stories.”

Stiles cocks an eyebrow as everyone around the table begins to laugh, trying to rid the tense atmosphere. He doesn’t understand why they think he’s lying, but he doesn’t bother to question it, just shrugs his shoulders as the bell rings for last lesson and they all pack up to leave. Scott, however, is still giving him a weird look, as if he’s trying to figure something out but can’t quite understand it, but he shakes his head as they make their way out of the cafeteria and to their next lesson.

*

After school, Stiles follows Scott in his Jeep as Scott rides on his motorbike in front of him. They are going over to Scott’s house to play some video games for a while and Stiles is nervous but excited to see Scott’s house again. He remembers when he was a kid, his mother used to bring him over to the McCall house and him and Scott would play in the sandbox in Scott’s garden. They would build sandcastles together and then kick them over, only to start over again, making the castles bigger with more toys to decorate the sandy castle walls.

Stiles remembers it all fondly. He also remembers the last time he saw Scott; they had been playing together, running through the woods and hiding, giggling with glee but trying to keep quiet. They had been round another friends house, a friend slightly older, who lived in the woods...

Shaking his head and ridding himself of the memories clogging his mind, Stiles pulls into the McCall’s driveway behind Scott and gets out. They walk up to the front door but before Scott can unlock it, the door swings open and a woman with messy dark curls dressed in blue scrubs is standing there. She jumps in surprise and studies them both, her wide eyes narrowing again as she studies Stiles. It takes her a moment before her face splits into a grin and she reaches forward to hug Stiles to her, which takes him off guard.

“Oh my gosh,” she says into his shoulder, leaning back to let him go, “Stiles. Gosh, it’s been a while.”

She’s beaming at him but then she seems to remember why she was rushing out the door and she squeezes by them, throwing over her shoulder, “Dinner’s in the fridge, don’t stay up late!”

Just as she’s about to get into her car she looks up to Stiles and says, “It’s good to have you back Stiles,” before she gets into her car and drives away.

They wave as she pulls out of the driveway before entering the house and shutting the door. Stiles hovers in the doorway to the kitchen as Scott heats up the dinner in the fridge, but he picks up the two cokes before they head upstairs to Scott’s room.

Stiles isn’t sure how much time they waste shooting other online players or how often they curse and shout at the screen. He didn’t bother to keep count of the amount of times he kicked Scott’s arse in Mario Kart, but the way Scott is giving him the evil side eye, as if he’s been betrayed, Stiles can’t help but smile smugly at him as he knocks Scott out with a blue shell to his vehicle.

“You’re totally cheating dude, I will accept no other reason as to how you keep winning,” Scott says once Stiles has knocked him off the course for the millionth time. Stiles laughs as he takes another swig from his coke can and shrugs as the screen replays his moment passing the finish line.

“What can I say, I’m just that good,” he says, accepting the playful punch Scott lands on his shoulder. He shoves the brunette in return, making him laugh and Stiles picks up his remote again before asking, “Wanna do another race?”

Scott opens his mouth, about to agree, when his phone rings. He looks at the screen to see who it is before he shoots Stiles an apologetic, swiping the screen to answer the call. Scott presses the phone to his ear and stands up, walking towards his bedroom door as whoever is on the other end begins to talk, a serious expression settling on Scott’s face.

Stiles sits there, unsure of what to do as Scott’s muffled voice filters through the closed bedroom door. He sounds concerned , voice rising for a moment before he’s silent again and then he’s agreeing to something the other person is saying. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to as he picks at a loose thread on his flannel shirt, but he tries to focus on what he can hear Scott saying.

He jumps slightly when the door opens again, Scott looking weary and apologetic as he addresses Stiles, who is still sitting on the floor.

“Sorry man. Deaton, my boss, he just called me about coming in quickly. There’s been a, erm, situation with one of the animals and he wants me to go down and help him out.”

Stiles’ eyes flick to the window and takes in how dark it seems to be getting. The street lights are already on and so he stands, putting the game controller down as he shrugs with a smile and says, “It’s cool man. It’s getting late anyway.”

Scott smiles at him, thankful, but he seems almost distracted and jittery as he escorts Stiles to the front door and leads him out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says while Stiles climbs into his Jeep and he nods as Scott gets onto his bike and puts on his helmet. Stiles has to pull out of the driveway first and he waves as he begins to drive down the road. Scott waves back before zooming off in the other direction, his motorbike already lost the dark behind Stiles.

Scott doesn’t live that far away from Stiles so it doesn’t take long before he’s home. The Sheriff has already left for work so Stiles lets himself in before making his way up to his room and sitting down in his desk chair. Rolling himself towards the desk where the dial radio is sat, untouched since he brought it the day before, Stiles takes the batteries he found in the kitchen a moment ago and removes the back of the radio where the batteries go. He needs four of them, and luckily his father is stocked up on batteries, although Stiles is sure that’s more in case of a black out and they need the batteries for torches. Still, the batteries fit and he shuts the back again, pleased that his radio now has juice to power it.

A few minutes pass as he adjusts the dials, hoping against hope for a signal. All he has gotten so far is static that ranges in pitch and he’s just about to give up for the night when he hears a howl from outside.

He looks towards the window, startled by the sound as he wheels himself over to open his bedroom window, sliding the frame up until he can poke his head out and look out towards the dark woodlands.

The moon is full and hangs heavy in the night sky as minutes pass without another howl being heard. Stiles is about to go back into his room and shut the window when he hears it, first one howl, then another, until the night is filled with the sound of howling.


	6. Lacrosse Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was meant to write this the other night and then my friend told me Robin Williams died and I cried for ages and stayed up until 4am talking to my friend about life and the universe and stuff.
> 
> Then I started writing this last night and I was sure I was almost done and then I realized it was almost 3am so I had to stop and get into bed and fucking sleep.
> 
> Then I woke up this morning and didn't like a part I had written in this because it was Stiles talking about his mother and although he's from Night Vale and this is an AU, I still feel like it's something he wouldn't just talk about with anyone, especially not the pack, at least not right now, since he's only just met them.
> 
> I think it worked out for the best in the end though, because I took out that bit and then I finished off the last bit with the whole lacrosse stuff and yeah, I'm happy with it now, I wasn't very happy with it at 2am this morning, so, good.
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy.

Another body is found that night. Stiles finds out in the morning as he eats his toast, relishing in the beautiful taste of the buttered wheat product, when his dad walks into the kitchen, a tired expression on his face. He heads straight for the coffee machine and pours some into a mug before sitting across from Stiles at the kitchen table.

Swallowing around his mouthful of bread, Stiles wipes the crumbs from around his mouth before speaking, “You okay Dad?”

John sighs, eyes mostly closed after being awake so long. He’s tired, Stiles can tell, and he feels a pang of protectiveness over his father. He doesn’t deserve so much stress in his life, so much worry, and Stiles knows him and his mother were the cause of some of the weight on his father’s shoulders. He just wishes he could unburden him, let him rest.

John opens his eyes and takes a large swig from his mug before replacing it back on the table, “Another body was found last night,” he says, running a hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck.

Stiles isn’t sure how to take this information. The reason his father is telling him this, Stiles reasons, is probably because he was the one who stumbled upon the first body. He wonders if the new body was anything like the first, already smelling of decay even though the body had not been dead for very long, the large intestine missing. He wants to ask, but isn’t sure his questions are welcome, so he nods instead, taking another bite from his second slice of toast.

The Sheriff seems to sense what Stiles is thinking and takes another sip of coffee before he informs him, “The large intestine was missing again. This time though, so were the small intestine and kidneys.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and rubbing at his eyes. Stiles finishes his toast and places the plate into the sink to wash later before he wraps his arms around his father’s shoulders and squeezes tightly. The Sheriff seems to appreciate it and pats his arm before Stiles lets go and picks up his bag, slinging it onto his back.

“It’ll be okay Dad,” he says as he heads out the kitchen door. When he reaches the front door, he opens it and calls over his shoulder, “Have a good day at work!”

“Have a good day at school son,” he hears John call back as he shuts the door before getting into his Jeep and driving to school.

*

Stiles makes it to his first lesson before the bell rings and he slides into the seat of the desk next to Scott, who smiles at him as he sits down. Allison is sat in front of Scott and she’s turned around in her seat, chin in one hand as her elbow rests on the back of her chair.

“Done the homework?” Allison asks Stiles once he’s seated and he smirks, pulling the sheet of completed homework out from his backpack. She gives him an impressed smile while Scott groans and throws his head back.

“I’m guessing you didn’t?” Stiles asks, not bothering to contain his amused smile as Scott glares at him.

“Didn’t have time to,” he replies and Stiles nods.

“Busy with your boss and stuff?”

Both Scott and Allison look confused then, their brows pinching forward. Scott almost seems to pout with how hard he’s thinking before his face lights up in recognition and he says, “Oh! Yeah, it kept me busy, yeah.”

Nodding again, Stiles takes out his textbook from his backpack and lays it on the table before he begins to fiddle with his pencil, tapping it against the desk, “So what did he want?”

Glancing towards Allison, Stiles can see that her expression is blank as she avoids Stiles’ gaze and Scott looks almost panicked for a moment before replying, “Er, just the usual. One of the cats needed to be looked at and stuff, you know, Deaton just needed an extra pair of hands to help him out.”

Stiles is about to mention the howling he heard the night before when the teacher at the front of the class clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Allison turns round in her seat and Stiles decides he will ask everyone later at lunch if they heard the howling last night. Although he has been in Night Vale for the majority of his teenage years, he knows that there aren’t any wolves in California.

“ _Talk later,_ ” Scott mouths to Stiles and he nods before there’s a collective groan across the classroom when the teacher asks who has completed their homework. Scott grimaces at Stiles and he holds in a chuckle at the sight.

*

By the time lunch time rolls around, Stiles is curious about the wolf howls he heard last night. No one has said anything about hearing any howls and no one has mentioned any news of another dead body. He wonders if his father and the rest of the force are trying to keep the mutilated bodies a secret for as long as they can before any news coverage gets the story of the building pile of dissected corpses. In Night Vale, he knows they wouldn’t even bother trying to hide the fact that people were dying because people died or mysteriously vanished at random and everyone would know by the end of the night when they tuned in to listen to Night Vale Radio. In Beacon Hills, however, they liked to keep such news on the down low for as long as possible, although to be honest, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure as to why.

Stiles didn’t have anyone he knew in his lesson before lunch that day, so he was alone as he walked into the cafeteria. Everyone was already seated around their apparently regular table, all talking. From what Stiles could tell, they all seemed to be talking in hushed whispers by the way the majority of them were leaning forward in their seats and discussing whatever it was they were talking about. Stiles supposed whatever they were on about was something they didn’t want others to know about, although he was suspicious when he arrived at the table and everyone ceased talking, the table falling silent.

Sliding into the seat next to Erica this time, he placed his tray down on the table and bit into his ham sandwich, ignoring the silence that had fallen over everyone upon his arrival. Across from him sat Isaac and next to him was Scott and Allison.

After swallowing his bite of sandwich, Stiles thought it was best to raise the question he had been wondering for the majority of the day, “Hey, did anyone hear the wolf howls last night?”

There was a clatter of some cutlery being dropped and Stiles glanced up to see Scott picking up his fork again and stabbing it into one of the chips on his plate. He could see Lydia giving him a side glance while Isaac appeared bored, but the tense set of his shoulders alerted Stiles that he was unsure of how to answer and that he was uncomfortable with the question.

“Although I’ve been in Night Vale for ages, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any wolves in California,” Stiles continues, biting into his sandwich and flicking his gaze around the table, taking in everyone’s different expressions.

“There aren’t,” Erica pipes up beside him, biting into her apple, “It was probably some kids messing around with some sound equipment or something. Aren’t those drama students trying to make a short horror film?”

Everyone seemed to relax at Erica’s answer, although Stiles felt the disappointment settle within him. He really hoped that everyone would confirm that they heard the howls and they could discuss it. Stiles remembers when Night Vale had the incident with the feral dogs and the howls they let out into the night before everyone realized they were really plastic bags and they were returned to the Dog Park. On some nights, he was sure he could still hear them howling to the sky, even over the fence that separate Night Vale from the Dog Park.

“Oh,” he said in reply, continuing to eat his sandwich. He wasn’t sure what else to say on the matter since Erica had already shot down any idea of there being wolves in the woods, so he sat, quietly eating his lunch until Erica piped up again.

“So Stiles, tell us more about Night Vale,” she said, angling her body towards him, “Is there anyone you miss from there?”

Stiles thought about it for a moment and then smiled, “Yeah. There was this old lady who lived nearby, Old Woman Josie, and she said she had angel friends.”

Everyone seemed grateful for the change of topic and turned to listen to Stiles. Even Jackson seemed interested as Stiles felt a fond smile play at his lips as he spoke of his favourite Night Vale resident.

“She was so nice. I used to stay round her house sometimes and drink her special tea with her and watch her favourite shows. Obviously angels don’t exist, not really, but her winged friends were always there. They lived with her and sometimes, when they stretched their wings, feathers would drop and I’d sit and catch them all as they fell. Josie would collect them and make dream catchers with the feathers, or she would give them to the Apache Tracker to put in his headdress.”

Turning to look towards Erica sat beside him, he said, “All the not angels are named Erika, with a K, funnily enough.”

“Oh?” Erica purred beside him, her red lips parting in a smile, “Would you consider me an angel then?”

Stiles shrugged, “Not really. Angels don’t exist,” he stated, before biting into his sandwich again. When he glanced up, Isaac was leaning towards Scott and murmuring something, his curious yet confused gaze on Stiles. He didn’t know what they were talking about but Scott nodded, apparently in agreement to whatever Isaac had said and the curly haired boy straightened in his seat before smiling at him.

“So Stiles, any good at lacrosse?”

*

Last lesson was lacrosse training with Coach Finstock. Back in Night Vale, the main sport was either basketball or football. Stiles didn’t play either sport, but he was friends Michael Sandero, who was the star football player for the Night Vale Scorpians after being struck by a sentient lightning bolt and developing superpowers. He remembers playing the game with Michael after school, helping him practice for the games so they could beat the rival team from Desert Bluffs, but apart from that, Stiles hadn’t played much sport.

“ _Stilinski_ ,” Coach yelled, making Stiles stand up straight as the man approached him, “You play lacrosse before?” he asked.

Stiles shook his head, holding his lacrosse stick to his chest as if it could protect him from his Coach. He flicked his eyes over to Scott, who was standing behind Coach and tying his shoelaces while him and Isaac talked.

Finstock narrowed his eyes at Stiles before saying, “You better be good, Greenberg is off sick and I need someone to fill in for him for the upcoming game.”

Turning to face the rest of them, leaving Stiles standing awkwardly behind him, Finstock blew his whistle and let it drop back to his chest as he shouted, “Alright, get out on the field! Danny, you’re in goal, James, Sam, you two are blockers, don’t let anyone get past you guys to score into the net. Let’s go!”

Everyone ran out onto the field and got into a line, with Danny going over to the goal and two other boys standing in front of him, acting as blockers. They all had their helmets on, the two boys in front both crouching at the knees and looking menacing as one of them twisted their lacrosse stick within their grasp. Stiles felt himself swallow nervously as Coach blew his whistle again and the boy at the front of the line picked up one of the balls from the ground and ran.

He didn’t make it far. Sam, the boy on the left, managed to smack the runner so that the ball went flying backwards into the air and the poor guy who had been running towards them was knocked down. Stiles began to bite at his bottom lip nervously, wringing his lacrosse stick in his hand before he felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked behind him and saw Scott giving him a comforting smile, his hand resting on his shoulder, and he squeezed it briefly as he said, “Don’t worry. Just try and slide and dodge them to make it past,” Coach’s whistle blew again, signalling the next player to go up. Scott squeezed his shoulder again before removing his hand, “You’ll do great.”

Stiles nodded at him, grateful for the reassurance, although he felt himself jump when he heard the crack of lacrosse stick on lacrosse stick. He turned back round to see another boy on the floor with Danny looking bored in the goal as the two blockers high fived.

“Oh my god I’m going to die,” he said as the whistle blew again and another boy went to meet his death.

After another three boys went up, two of which were more successful and managed to score into the goal while the other was knocked down like the majority of them, it was Stiles’ turn. He bit his lip again, looking almost panicked before he put on his helmet and secured it in place. The whistle blew and he didn’t think, just scooped up the ball and began to run.

As he ran forward, the two blockers were moving for him and he didn’t think, just slide to the side, turning the grass up beneath his feet. The one closest to him went for him and he slid back to the other side, watching in horror for moment as the block went down. The next blocker was right there though, but before he could tackle Stiles to the ground, he dug his feet into the ground and then spun around so that the blocker threw himself forward as Stiles pirouetted around him. He fell to the ground with a thump and Stiles ran, drawing his stick into the air and curving it before forcing it forward, making his stick cut through the air as the ball flew from his net.

For a moment, it was like everything had slowed down. The ball was flying through the air and Stiles watched as Danny went for it, his lacrosse stick extending to catch it but it was too late and the ball hit the back of the goal’s net with a satisfying thud before it fell to hit the ground.

First, there was silence and the only thing Stiles could hear was the beat of his heart before he heard Coach yell from the side, “That’s it Stilinski!” and Scott was running up behind him, tackling him in a hug and saying, “Well done bro!”

Stiles smiled and turned to try and hug Scott before Finstock blew his whistle and yelled at Scott to get back into the line to take his turn. Stiles turned and accepted the high five Danny gave his way, feeling almost shy as the goalie said, “Not bad,” and gave him one of his dazzling smiles.

As he jogged back to the end of the line, Stiles took off his helmet and placed it under his arm before taking off one of his gloves and running a hand through his thick hair. It was slightly damp from sweat, his fringe hanging over his forehead and he ran his hand through, pushing it back and making it stand up at random. He ran his hand through again, mussing up his hair so it wasn’t sticking up so much and then stopped, feeling as though he was being watched. His skin prickled with unease and he looked up to his right, looking out towards where some of the big bench seat structures were, the edge of the clearing that broke off into woodland behind the metal frame. Standing there, leaning against the metal frame of the seats was a guy, obviously not a teenager, but also not old enough to be a parent, from what Stiles could see. He had dark hair and stubble and wore a leather jacket, and one leg was crossed over the other at the ankle as he leaned against the seat structure. Stiles could tell the guy was watching him and Stiles didn’t know what to do.

Out of curiosity of what might happen, he raised his hand tentatively and waved at the guy. He didn’t seem to react, although Stiles was sure he could see his eyes narrow to glare at him.

For a moment, he considered going over there to ask what the guy wanted when the whistle blew and he turned to look around, seeing Scott coming over to join him at the back as the next player went up. Scott came over and clapped him on his back, making Stiles look up at him as he took off his helmet and shook his head, a sheen of sweat glistening on his face.

“Woah, I think we did good there dude,” he said, taking off a glove and running his hand through his damp hair. Stiles nodded, grinning distractedly before looking back over to the benches again and frowning. Scott shook his head again, a drop of sweat flying off from his hair and he looked over to Stiles and frowned, following his line of sight, “What are you looking at?”

Stiles shook his head, replying, “Nothing,” as he moved forward in the line. He knew he had seen the guy, and although he wanted to ask Scott if maybe he knew him, he didn’t dare to ask. Maybe the guy was a psycho killer or something. He was wearing a leather jacket and it was rather warm today, so Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if the guy was sweating.

But Stiles was sure for a moment, when he glanced back over to where he had seen the guy standing, that he saw something moving in the shadows amongst the tree line.


	7. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so much to say.
> 
> First off, sorry I took an unexpected hiatus. My parents finally went on their honeymoon for their 10th year anniversary, which meant I had to stay up my Nan's during the time they were away (which was fine). I had access to my computer and stuff but couldn't find the motivation to write anything creative because I was trying to complete my college summer project and my young cousins were basically round everyday so I was playing with them. Then obviously my parents came home, I came home, and I could have written another chapter. Again, I suck at doing work because I love to not do it so I was lazing around a bit before I had to kick my arse into gear and get the project completed. Still no motivation to write though.
> 
> The _Teen Wolf_ final rolled around and hell if anyone thinks I'm gonna bother watching s5. I've fallen out of love with _Teen Wolf_ , I've not been fond of it since 3A but I was loyal man, I kept watching. But it's shit (in my opinion) and I'm in love in another fandom so whatever. I still love Sterek though, but probably more of s1 and s2 stuff so if I write more Sterek things, it'll probably be based around that stuff. 
> 
> I started college last week, that was weird. I have college tomorrow so eh. I'll fit in college work and finishing this series and such so don't worry, I'll try not to go on another unexpected hiatus. I beg pardon for the wait. I doubt this chapter will be grand, I think I've made a few mistakes but I'll blame it on tiredness or that fact I've not done creative writing in a while. Hopefully you guys'll still enjoy it though.
> 
> This explanation shit is long. Just go read the new chapter.

Trying to fix the radio was starting to irritate Stiles. He had been messing around with the thing for the majority of the afternoon since he came home from lacrosse, and the thing still wouldn’t turn on and connect to a station. Each time he thought he had made it work, he would turn it on and watch in hopefully delight as the screen lit up as he began to turn the dials. His hope would quickly diminish when all his ears heard was static and he growled in frustration, throwing the piece of crap on the bed and turning around in his desk chair, arms folded. He huffed, knowing he looked childish, but who was to know?

He doesn’t know what to do. The radio won’t work, his homework for the night is complete and his father is downstairs watching the television as he cooks dinner. Stiles had managed to convince him to make chicken burgers and if he listens hard enough, he can hear his dad pottering around the kitchen as he cooks.

Swirling around in his chair, he flicks his gaze around his room, eyes never landing on one thing for too long as he tries to figure out what to do. It’s still light outside, the sun casting a warm glow over Beacon Hills as it makes its way towards the ground and he wonders about going for a walk, if that would be a good idea.

In the end he jogs down the stairs, feet skidding along the floor for a moment as he holds the end of the banister to twirl himself around. He grabs his shoes, slipping one on and then the other before he grabs his jacket from the one of the hooks by the front door and yells back towards the kitchen, “I’m just going for a walk Dad, I’ll be back in a minute!”

“Don’t be long, dinner will be ready in a moment,” his dad replies, his back to Stiles as he stands at the oven. He hears the zip being pulled up on Stiles’ jacket before the door opens and shuts with a bang, Stiles’ quick, “Bye!” echoing before the house falls silent except for the sounds of the cooking and the background hum of the television.

Making his way down the driveway, Stiles forgoes his beloved Jeep, patting it lovingly as he passes by it. He begins to walk down the street, watching as the sun continues its descent towards the ground, stars appearing here and there in the sky as day turns into night. Stiles makes a mental note not to take too long and speeds up his pace, making his way towards his desired destination.

The bell chimes again when he finally makes it to the antiques store. The place still smells the same, the comforting scent of old, worn down wood and heavy dust and he beams as he enters the shop. The lamps are all on, casting the shop in a warm, pleasant glow as he slides up towards the counter where the old man is sat reading a book, this one a different book than the last time Stiles was here. ‘ _The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow_ ’ _by Washington Irving_ is written in bold capitals on the spine of the book.

Stiles clears his throat and the man looks up, eyes peering at him over the edge of his glasses perched on the end of his skinny nose. He bookmarks his page and turns towards Stiles, arms resting on the countertop as he says in a deep voice, like that of a intellectual school professor, “How may I help you young man?”

“I brought an old dial radio from here the other day,” Stiles begins, leaning his weight against the counter slightly, “And it doesn’t seem to be working. I wondered if you knew what I could do to make it tune into the stations?”

The man looks at him for a moment, bald head gleaming until dark grey hair peppered with white springs forth around his eye level, encircling his scalp. His well kept beard and moustache are a lighter grey and the man reaches up to scratch at his jaw as he leans back in his seat. He turns to his left slightly and reaches down, glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose as he appears to root around in one of the shelves in the wooden counter. Stiles waits patiently while the man searches for whatever he’s looking for before he murmurs quietly, “Ah,” and sits back up, pushing his glasses up with one hand as he produces a booklet with the other. The pages of the small booklet are worn, the paper yellowed with age and the ink forming words on the paper almost faded into nothing. The store owner places the booklet on the counter top and opens it up, blowing on it slightly to remove any lingering dust.

Flicking his eyes across the page, he makes a satisfied noise when he looks up, closing the booklet as he does so. He slides the booklet towards Stiles and Stiles takes it, picking it up and flicking through the pages himself. There are diagrams drawn on some of the pages, showing how the radio works, how the dials turn and how the batteries have to be placed within the device. Stiles looks up towards the man who is smiling at him and says, “How much?”

The man shakes his head, “Nothing, not a dime. I should have given it to you when you brought the thing but I forgot so take it and go figure out how to make that old radio work.”

Stiles smiles at him and thanks him, waving as he leaves the store and the bell chimes overhead. The man waves slightly in return before he returns to reading his book, the soft glow from the lamps almost making the man appear younger and as if he was a model for a worn out photo.

Turning onto the street and breathing in the chilly air, Stiles stuffs his hands and the booklet into his pockets and begins his walk home, thinking about the chicken burgers his dad will have cooked up. He hums as he walks, eyes mostly on the darkening sky and the twinkling lights as they blink down at him and he wonders what it’s like being a star, so far away and so bright, an explosion of gases and magic that live and die but always give out their lights to deliver to the eyes of humans on earth. He wonders and then stops, body stiffening as the hair on the back of his neck stands on edge.

Someone is watching him.

The street is empty, cars passing every now and then but the air is silent, distant sounds of civilisation and the sound of insects a background buzz to the pounding of his heart beating too loud in his own ears. He casts his eyes around, looking to his right that shows the road and a few houses planted here and there, a few shops that claim to be open all hours, their windows lit up a bright white as products collect dust on the shelves. A stranger is walking down the street, hood up, hands shoved into their pocket, but they are walking away from Stiles, not paying him any attention, as if he’s not there.

He looks to his left then and scans the scene. A children’s park, deserted at this hour, faded colours on all of the metal structures, the swing set, the merry-go-round, the monkey bars. The gate separates him from the park, cutting off the pavement and opening into thick tuffs of grass that taper off to soft rubber mulch that encircles the ground around the different play sets around the park. Apart from the slight usual uneasy feeling of seeing a deserted playground at nightfall, the park doesn’t concern Stiles. He bypasses it and looks out towards the field behind it, which hosts two football fields until it tapers off into more woodland. Stiles wonders absently how much woodland in Beacon Hills there is and if they should rename the town to indicate the vast forestation they seem to have in comparison to the lack of hills in the area.

It’s the woods that get him. The trees trunks are mostly thin towards the front but from the how many there are, they quickly dissolve into darkness no one can see more than a few of the trees that lead into the deeper parts of the woods. Stiles stares towards the tree line for a moment, silent, still, his muscles wanting to twitch and move, whir to life but he keeps still, as still as he can, as his eyes scan between the trees.

He can’t tell if he’s more relieved or shocked when he finally spots the red eyes watching him from the darkness. He stares right at the red irises and even from this distance, he can tell the creature knows he’s spotted it because it stands there a moment longer before the eyes disappear and leave only an inky blackness in its place.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to walk towards the trees.

*

What was remaining of the sun cannot penetrate through the leaves and branches here and the woods before him are dark, bathed in blue and an unsettling darkness that feels as though it could wrap around his frail frame and swallow him whole. He keeps his hands in his pockets, clenches them into fists and looks around, trying to find the source of the red eyes.

Stiles can’t see anyone, not anything. The sounds of cars passing on the road seem distant and fade away the further he walks into the woods and he wonders idly if his dad is worried, is wondering where he is, if he will go looking for Stiles. It makes him pause for a moment, unsure if he should continue this chase that has only led him into an undisturbed forest and he considers turning around and walking home, having dinner with his father and forgetting the glowing eyes from the trees.

It is then that it hits him, literally. Something huge, heavy, covered in dirt and panting harshly knocks Stiles over and Stiles shouts as he falls, the loose branches and rocks digging into his skin when he lands. A hiss leaves his lips as a rock slices the side of his hand and blood wells up to the fresh wound and begins to run, a single trail that travels down his hand and Stiles watches in wonder before he thinks to look up to see what had hit him. He doesn’t see anything for a moment and as he is about to get back up when it appears again, something large, something hunkered over with hot breath that smells of decay and rot, of old blood mixed with fresh blood, of meat. Its body looks foul, smells like a corpse and Stiles resists emptying the contents of his stomach as the creature watches him with sickly eyes, the whites a pale yellow, the red veins almost reaching towards the milky irises. Its mouth hangs open, sharp, misshapen teeth standing at odd angles, pieces of something unidentifiable stuck between some of its rotten looking teeth. Stiles doesn’t want to look closer but considering the smell of the creatures breath, he wonders if what is stuck between its teeth is meat and flesh.

It’s like time had slowed down to a stop as the creature kneeled hunched over, watching him and unmoving and then suddenly it was pouncing towards where he’s lying on the floor, its mouth gaping open, longer than any humans, its powerful jaw closing to snap its teeth at Stiles as it flew towards him. Stiles didn’t know how to react, felt paralysed with shock as the thing came to fall upon him and, presumably, devourer him.

Stiles closed his eyes and prepared for the feeling of those nasty teeth digging into his skin, but there was nothing. He heard a large thump, as if something had heavy had hit something equally as heavy and then there was the sound of bark breaking in a tree. Stiles reopened his eyes and looked over to where he had heard the noise to see someone in a leather jacket had thrown themselves at the creature, propelling them both into a tree trunk. The bark on the tree was broken and splintered from where they had connected and both bodies were on the ground, struggling. The creature got up first and took a swipe for the other person, who rolled over to dodge the attack, the creature’s claws scratching at the earth when it missed its target.

The person rolled again into a couching position and growled, something feral in the way it did so, before they spun around towards where Stiles was still on the floor. His eyes widen for a moment as he took in the person before him; it was the guy from earlier, who had been standing next to the seats in the lacrosse field. He was still wearing his leather jacket, but his white shirt was splattered with blood and something green that smelt foul. Stiles guessed it had come from the creature when he had impacted with it and Stiles wrinkled his nose. The guy glanced down at his shirt and then rolled his eyes before he stiffened, looking behind him to where the creature was about to lunge for him again.

He turned back towards Stiles and yelled, “Run!” before turning back towards the creature as it leapt at him. The man dodge the things attack and it fell to the ground again, but it was up on its feet again fast, swinging its long arm out and catching the man’s ankles, making him fall onto his back with a thump and a hissed breath.

Stiles scrambled to stand up and looked around for something to use as the guy in the leather jacket tried to get back up on his feet to take the creature out. It was swinging its arms, long talons catching on fabric and skin, noises that hurt Stiles’ ears leaving its mouth while it fought. Stiles felt around on the ground until he found a heavy enough rock and then turned back towards where the two were fighting and waited for his opportunity. The guy was on his feet again and as the creature swung at him, he dodged away, giving Stiles a great opening to hurl the rock at the things head. It hit with an audible crack and the thing shrieked, blood welling up at its skull before beginning to trickle down its leather like flesh. It screamed again before it tried to lunge for the guy, but Stiles reached out and caught the end of his jacket sleeve and tugged him towards him, out of the line of the things attack.

“Run!” Stiles said, mimicking the guy from a moment before. He reached down to grab at the guys hand, turning away from his surprised face to break into a run, dragging the guy with him as the creature gave a blood curdling scream from behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainbowRandoms) and [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/)


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